The Little Things
by pookiemookie94
Summary: A collection of usuk short stories and drabbles! Following these two dorks through countless AU's, be ready for a rollercoaster of feelings and emotions. Warnings inside!
1. Free Bird

Hello there! I have finally bitten the bullet and took the plunge. A hetalia story on fanfiction that will actually (hopefully) be updated!

Now, I have been horrible with sticking with stories. I'm that annoying writer that posts one chapter and that's it. So, how do I combat that problem?

Have multiple chapters on oneshots of course!

These will be of the wonderful pairing of America and England, those dorks. Warnings, lots of these will be AU's, and I tend to write whenever I'm in the mood. This is also for English practise, so it might get a bit topsy turvy sometimes ;)

They may be extra long or really short, whatever fits. Also, I will give a quick synopse at the start. So, if the prompt does not suit you, you can skip it!

And I'm so sorry that the first one is really sad. It just happened :s

* * *

_"Free Bird"_

_Angst and suicide_

_Please listen to Free Bird by Lynyrd Skynrd for the best expereince~_

* * *

_"If I leave here tomorrow, would you still remember me?"_

Arthur was a pathetic mess. That was the only possible way he could describe himself at this moment. Here he was, lying among a stash of empty bottles of booze in his dark apartment, having himself a pity party. Hair mussed up, matted on his forehead. His eyes were puffy and red, he was in complete disarray. Listening to _his_ favourite songs and drinking _his_ booze. What a better way to forget your troubles with fantastic irony. If only Alfred could see him now.

If only.

_"For I must be travelling on, now, cause there's too many places I've got to see."_

Arthur let a dry chuckle out, reaching for another bottle. No better way to get rid of your troubles by drinking it away. He couldn't even feel the burn of the alcohol anymore. Only a dull, senseless feeling remained. He relished in that feeling, it let him forget. More, more, more, he chugged it down.

Too much.

Arthur released the bottle from his lips, dry rasps heaving his body. Choking back tears or choking back the bitter alcohol, only god knows. Everything is too much, too soon.

_"But, if I stayed here with you, girl, things just couldn't be the same."_

Arthur could feel the hot, burning tears again. He looked at the bottle in betrayal.

"It's all you fault." He rasped out, the bloody thing didn't say anything. Stupid, silent, git of a fuck. The bottle seemed to be mocking him.

It took all Arthur's strength to toss the bottle at the opposite wall, a feeling of dull satisfaction as it smashed, breaking the atmosphere of the suffocating room.

"Told ya, you tosser" he moaned at the bottle, watching the liquid stain into his carpet.

_"Cause I'm as free as a bird now, and this bird you can not change."_

Arthur leant back on his wall, looking at all the shards. Despair seemed to fill him up the more he looked at the bottle. Bourbon, he mused silently, Alfred's favourite type.

The Brit felt more hot tears burning his eyes. Why did Alfred have to go? Had to leave him here, in this ugly, lonely apartment? The very thought of Alfred sent Arthur reaching for the nearest bottle.

No more.

_"Oh... oh... oh... oh... oh... And the bird you cannot change. And this bird you cannot change. Lord knows I can't change."_

Arthur couldn't count how long he lay there. Time seemed slower, no that was not the feeling. Time seemed not to exist.

Just like Alfred.

_"Lord knows, I can't change. Lord help me, I can't change. Lord I can't change."_

Arthur felt himself shift, his sore legs aching in protest, but he was on autopilot. Something seemed to change. Something snapped along with the music- Arthur simply had too much. He was lost in that maze called life. He wanted out. Blindly he stumbled to the balcony's doors, grappling at the handles.

_"Won't you fly high free bird yeah"_

As soon as the guitar solo kicked in, Arthur felt the cold wind burn his skin. He placed his hands on the cement barrier, gently lifting himself so he was crouching on it. Reaching up, Arthur was ready. He looked down at the speeding cars below.

"B-Bloody hell" his teeth clacked, the drop was an instant death. Arthur tossed his head back, breathing erratic.

Alfred, Alfred, _Alfred_.

He again looked down, feeling dizzy with his adrenaline. This was it. His pathetic, lonely existence was about to end.

"Arthur!"

Dreaming. No, hallucinations, Arthur thought bitterly, looking down at the Alfred beside him. Smug bastard, that grin was a weapon in its own right.

The imaginary Alfred just whistled, sitting on the wall. Arthur had to look away into the distance, his heart clenching fiercely. Those blue eyes…

The music was building, reaching and peaking. Arthur couldn't help himself, he looked at Alfred. Pleading for guidance or looking for welcomed familiarity in a scary place, he didn't know. Arthur took in the Americans trade mark bomber jacket, white t-shirt and jeans too big for his waist. Those glasses, that unmanageable cowlick, those eyes, _that smile_. How long has he wanted to touch him one more time?

"I love you Artie."

The silence was deafening. Arthur slowly let his hands go from above. There was nothing else to stop him. He was literally dangling on the edge of death itself. Alfred just gave him a small, sad knowing smile.

"You know I'll catch you."

The music stopped.

Arthur let go.

* * *

What do you guys think? :)


	2. Star

She wanted to be a star. To be like the stars on those warm summer nights. To actually be on that dark stage, feel the spotlight, feel the sounds, and to feel that taste that was so addicting. That's all she wanted. Amelia let out a smirk as her name was sounded. The music ran threw her as well as the whiskey.

Stepping out she let that iconic sugary grin greet hungry eyes. The whole crowd watched, staring as she worked her strut. In the middle was the pole. It was cold and harsh as she let her tongue run languidly up. Few spins, few twists and the whole crowd were silent. That sugary grin grew larger. Amelia let out a small laugh and a turn. Removing her self, she strutted towards the front. Then she spotted him.

Green eyes crashed into blue and her breath was taken away. The man was flushed, watching her as if she was the most beautiful thing in the world. He drew her forwards, before they knew it were only centimetres away, Amelia grabbing his tie to pull him closer. With all those hungry eyes on her, she smiled just for him. He smiled back, eyes hazy yet they seemed so sharp. Amelia stayed still, letting his breath gloss over her lips.

"Your name?" The sound was husky, English and oh so low and she felt that familiar thrill up her spine.

"Amelia. Yours?

"Arthur"

Moments passed, then with that she grinned, throwing Arthur away from her. All the time loving that baffled outraged expression on his face. Letting out a wink, she saunters back to the stage and the spotlight. She could still feel those green eyes burning into her.


	3. Ripped Shirts

_"Ripped Shirts"_

_School stuff, some naughty language_

_I'm not sure if there's a plot, or just scenes dealing with the two in a school setting_

* * *

Alfred looked at his face in the mirror. A blank face stared back at him from the dirty glass; he looked barely reasonable. His hair looked like a bird nest and toothpaste was still on his mouth. The only good thing about his appearance should be a negative, for god's sake. Only a few decoloured bruises here and there and a cut lip. The American grumbled, reaching over for his mother's make up. At least he got some good right hooks on the commie bastard.

Splodge here, dabble on that spot, Alfred flinched at the tender area he prodded at. Ahh, he remembered _that _one, and the impressive kick to the Russian's stomach soon after. He snickered at the thought, as he admired his handiwork in the mirror. No more bruises for this American!

Alfred quickly chucked on a white tee and his favourite baggy jeans. Flick on some oversized rip off of a converse and grab his far too old bag.

"Ma!"

A woman looked up from the kitchen as Alfred waltzed into the small dining room. She was wrapped up in her dressing gown, with smeared make up and far too strong perfume on. Like always. Alfred smiled at her, placing a wet kiss on her cheek.

"Off ta school" he sang, snitching one of his mother's piece of toast. He waved mockingly as he exited through the door.

"Can you get some milk and more of those rice crackers on your way? I need some more…" She yelled after him, Alfred just saluted.

The walk to his school was nothing really. A short fifteen walk was great, and the milk bar was just on the corner of his street. The neighbourhood was and always been a hot spot for crimes though. Alfred just grinned, playing with his dog tags. He was a pretty good street fighter, so some desperate bad dude couldn't beat a hero like him.

He reached the gates of his school. It made no attempt to not look like some cheap as school. The girls all wore way too tight clothing. The boys wore sweats and wife beaters. The in between-ers wore things from the 90s.

Alfred just went straight to his locker, thankfully on a top one. It clanked open; he chucked his bag in and looks out his battered books. Just another day of this torture.

It's not like he hated learning, he loved it. Yet, school was so boring and slow. The school suggested he go to a better school, but where on earth is he gonna find the money? Anyways, one of those fancy as schools wouldn't take him with his type of record.

_ .Bring._

Alfred squeezed though the crowds, being a bit taller and broader then most made the task a tiny bit easier. 14C, in room 7 G-block. He grinned as he entered, waving at Kiku, Ludwig and Fulic-, Foli-, arggg, Feli or whatever. He eased into his self allocated seat at the front, spreading as much over the table and chair as possible. He grinned as he watched all the casuals walk in, many immigrants to his wonderful country. Lien, the pretty Vietnamese girl, gave him her normal glare. Francis flounced in, this time his hand up blissfully unaware Antonio's, Gilbert chastising them for being 'fags'. Elizabeta gave the German her normal hit in the head. Then bushy brows-

Alfred stilled, now all his attention on this new face. A new guy it seems, quite unusual. Alfred discreetly sized him up. The boy was a little on the scrawny side, dressed down in a "the Who" t-shirt and normal jeans. Bed hair, and impressively big eyebrows. Very, very, bushy… like caterpillars… Alfred caught himself from staring as he realised that the boy was looking down on him.

"Bloody caterpillars you tosser?"

Alfred caught red-handed and in a corner, just sent a some what sheepish grin back. Go, his million watt smile, go! Hopefully his American charm can work on British prickliness.

The boy just visibly bristled yet said nothing. Alfred watched in a little amusement, as well as most of the class, as the guy looked around for a seat. The only two left were either next to Alfred or… next to Alfred.

Well, he did have the reputation for being loud and a bit nosy and bossy at times.

The boy visibly deflated realising this fact and gingerly sat next to him, scowl on his face. Alfred just grinned, caring not that much. A new kid wouldn't try anything with him.

The teacher was last, like normal. As normal, he made no real effort to engage the class. Mr Jordan simply read out the class role, and only raised an eye-brow at the new comer. It was Francis who got the boy to introduce himself.

"Ahh, you there."

"What."

Francis seemed delighted, a perverse smile on his face. Most of the class was watching this, seeing how the new kid would deal with one like the Frenchman.

"British, are you not?"

"Beat it, frog." The boy had yet to acknowledge him. Alfred smiled, he already liked this kid. He didn't take shit from no one.

"_Angleterre_" came the mocking response, "come on, and don't be shy."

"Yeah, come on dude."

A hot glare came his way. The boy seemed to hesitate, but he stood up with what seemed great difficulty. He stormed to the front; Mr Jordan just kept reading his fishing magazine, not even bothering to stop the Briton.

"My name is Arthur." He recited smoothly, looking at no one particular. "I am 17, I moved here from London when I was 16. I was expelled from my last school. I like books and football. That's all you need to know." He whisked back to his seat and sat calmly back in.

* * *

Alfred didn't see the new kid in his maths class. Oh well, it was a waste of two sessions. Alfred didn't see him at recess either. He just chose to chill with Toris, who seemed lonely because Feiks wasn't there that day.

"Where is he anyway?" Alfred wondered out loud, chomping into his bread. Toris just gave a small smile.

"He's sick."

"Ahh. Okay. Anyway, how's life? Natasha stopped hitting you yet? You know, dude, don't go for her. She's nuts." Toris just shook his head.

"She's nice when you get to know her, Alfred."

"You had to get your fingers fixed at the hospital."

Toris opened his mouth, yet said nothing, returning to his own flimsy sandwich.

Alfred entered his P.E class, to see that Arthur was there, already ready in some tank top and shorts.

"Hey, Artie!" Alfred yelled, waving at the boy. The boy seemed startled, and quickly sent him the finger back.

"Ohh, that little prick just owned you." Snickered Gilbert, elbowing the American in the arm, a shit eating grin plastered on his face. Alfred just pushed the albino away, laughing.

"Does it really look like it would bother me? As long as he doesn't swing at me, he's gonna be fine. He seems like a cool dude, anyways… Dude. Why the hell are you in here?"

"GILBERT GET BACK INTO MY FUCKING CLASS AND OUT OF THAT GYM RIGHT FUCKING NOW" a shrill voice drifted through gym doors down from the corridor.

"That's my queue." Gilbert ran like the devil was on his heels through the back door away from the screams.

"Alright, everyone!" Mrs White came in, her normal smile in place. "We are going to do a few laps, and then we are going to do some fitness all together outside on the oval. All good? Alright, go, and no chatting!"

Alfred quickly led the pack from the start, but Arthur surprisingly joined him there. He seemed a bit puffed out already.

"How you going?" Alfred sent grin in the Briton's direction. Arthur noticeably ignored him, and just kept puffing away. Alfred felt a frown on his face. Even being insulted was better then being ignored.

"Hey, hey. Dude! Artie!"

"It's. Arthur." The guy gasped out, and Alfred smirked as he could see that he tried to make it as hateful as possible but failed miserably.

"Artie, are you struggling there? Need a little help? Artie~" He sniped, getting a strange high as he saw that Arthur's attention was now solely on him.

"Shut up, you git"

"If you can beat me." A challenge. Arthur looked at him strangely, yet visibly strained as he tried to keep up with the American's pace.

"Come on, Artie"

A acid stare, Alfred whistled in response.

"Artie." He sang, "Artie Artie, can't beat me, Artie"

Arthur suddenly stopped. Alfred slowed down instantly looking at the boy. His face was red, from anger or exhaustion he did not know. Fists were clenched by his side, his chest heaving in deep breaths. Alfred just stood watching him in awe. The rest of the class passed, but he knew that all stopped as soon as he passed.

Stupidly he asked "you give up?"

A fist went into his stomach.

Everything went too quickly. His face stung like a little bitch. He was on auto pilot. His fists were sore. It was only when the two were separated that Alfred could see the damage. Arthur came out of the scuffle far worst then he had. Alfred's split lip just re-opened a few new bruises. Arthur on the other hand was breathing like a caged animal. His right eye was welling up already, and a blotchy blue bruise was forming on his collar bone. His shirt was ripped, exposing a bit of his chest.

Alfred felt awful for provoking the dude. Alfred was just having fun, and Arthur was new, but the American seemed to love over stepping the boundaries.

"You two." Spat Mrs White, looking between the two of them. "Office right now. Mikkel, take them there."

* * *

It was awkward in the waiting room. Only two seats separated them, and Alfred couldn't help stealing glances at the other boy. The other was just staring at his t-shirt in distaste.

"Artie?"

"What?" was the tired reply. Alfred looked over to see Arthur looking so… torn. Alfred sent him a little grin.

"You fought pretty well, dude." Arthur sent a sarcastic smile back. "Thanks."

Alfred smiled stupidly back, purposely ignoring the sarcasm.

"You want to be friends?"

The boy seemed shocked. He glanced back to his ripped t-shirt, seemingly trying to get support from the clothing, then back at the American.

"Why should I, tosser? Look what you did to my shirt. It was bloody new."

Alfred just shrugged. "I can buy you a new one. I wasn't the one who got prissy, any way." Arthur just raised an impressive brow in response.

"You called my fighting, "prissy?""

Alfred just grinned in response.

* * *

If Alfred thought the waiting room was awkward, well, he was crazy. His mom, with her thick make up, flimsy clothing and far too strong perfume was sitting with Arthur's mom, who seemed like a saint in comparison. A worn out, tired and fragile saint at that.

Alfred glared at Arthur, daring him to judge his mom. Arthur did nothing of the sort, just a polite nod to her and sat in his dedicated seat. Alfred went and slumped into his seat, waiting for the principal.

He entered, looked at the two boys, and just sighed.

Two different stories passed, and he just shook his head. The normal sent home, come back in the morning sort of flick on the wrist. His mom went off for getting the phone call in the first place. "Russian fights are the only ones that I come" she nagged at the principal. His mom apologised to Artie's mom, who just nodded, almost like a robot, in response.

Arthur just sent a glare as a goodbye.

* * *

News of the fight went though the daily gossip wheel. Alfred got pats on the back from random, students, Francis giving him a not wanted hug from the news. Arthur saw this and smirked at the scene. However, Arthur got congratulated by Ivan, and even then Alfred couldn't feel sympathy for the poor dude.

Yet, even through that fight. Alfred always tried to tease Artie whenever the chance arose. PE, English or woodwork, wherever, however. It wasn't a second where Alfred wasn't there, niggling the English boy.

Arthur would snark back, yet never got as truly angry as he had. He never just got up and left when he saw the American approaching, either.

* * *

"Artie, ready for some major whoop-ass action?" smirked Alfred, taking his sweaty shirt off and rolling it into a whip.

Arthur just stared at him, face void from emotion. The change rooms seemed a prime spot for Alfred's teasing. All the guys snickered at the two, harsh whispers ripping through the crowd. The American frowned at the blank face. Why was he not getting any reaction?

"Hey, can I help with that?" Laughed Mikkel, the other loud but Danish boy. Harsh laughter and Alfred just frowned at the sound. He looked back at Arthur, who seemed a bit alarmed. Alfred felt his back straighten up.

"I'm fine." Alfred snipped back.

* * *

"Another hamburger?"

Alfred glared at Arthur's smirk, taking another huge bite. It was lunchtime and both had this uncanny ability of running into each other.

"Stuff you. No, fuck you."

Arthur seemed to still for a bit. Cheeks seemed to fill with a red hue. Alfred just smiled in response, ha! Take that blow Arthur; he could see the steam just bursting though his ears.

Arthur made a little cough, and gingerly went back to his stale bread.

"You should try some, go to McDonald's, they have the best." Alfred praised, licking the grease off his fingers. "Wanna go?" He sat up, looking over the barbed fence to the heavenly golden gates. Arthur just stared.

The boy hesitated, Alfred silently laughing at the tortured face the other was making. Arthur, after a few seconds of inwardly battle, slowly got up. Straight for the gates he went, not even looking back at the cackling teen.

* * *

Alfred couldn't help smirking at the embarrassed hand movements and stutters of Arthur. Caught red-handed eating a Big Mac, ahh, he taught him well.

"It's not what it looks like!" Arthur stammered, failing to hide the wrappers tell-tale rustling.

"It's alright, buddy" Alfred cooed, kneeling down to Arthur's height. "Everyone loves McDonald's. We just have to live with it."

Arthur looked like he was told that all the tea had run out. The colour drained from his face. Alfred consoled with him, rubbing slow circles into his back.

Arthur made a few gasping noises, like he was drowning. His gaze went everywhere except on Alfred, looking for some help. When he found none, horror stricken, he looked at the understanding face of the American. Silence for a few seconds.

"I don't like McDonald's!" he blurted out suddenly, smashing the half eaten hamburger into Alfred's face.

The two were sent to the principals office, looking worse for wear. Alfred sporting glowing face splitting grin and Arthur a small, warm smile.

* * *

Pain. Jesus, it hurt like a bitch but any excuse to bruise the Russian was a good excuse. This little violent relationship had brewed even in primary school. It was more then raw strength of course; the two were always battling for the best of everything. Mind-games were the norm, due to what a crazy motherfucker Ivan was. Alfred grinned as a fist solidly connected to Ivan's gut. Baby, this was life.

A crowd had gathered around the two, loud chants echoing throughout. The two separated for a breather.

"Your punches have less impact, lately Alfred." Prodded Ivan, that crazy twisted smile on his face.

"Struggling to talk, there, Ivan?" He mocked back. "Need to work off some of those love handles." Ivan just smiled, being only a bit disconcerting.

"The same could be said to you, Alfred."

A smile. More fists, more wrestling, more kicks, more knees. Another breather. No teacher in sight, just what he needed. More time to punch the weird fuck's face in.

"Alfred!"

He stilled, seemingly picking that voice from others in the crowd. He quickly glanced towards the voice, which seemed way too worried for his liking. Beatles t-shirt, bushy brows and green eyes entered his vision, which was…blurry?

Arthur expression was a mix of pure rage and desperate worry. If Alfred had any other breath left over it was taken from him. Ivan followed his gaze, and his smile twisted even more at the sight.

"Alfred, my comrade."

Alfred whipped his vision back to the pulp which was Ivan. What's with the sudden use of 'comrade'?

"Yes, dude?" he drawled back.

"So cute." Ivan simply stated, twisted smile all in place.

* * *

"Artie, watch me!" He yelled from the other side of the basketball court. Arthur just watched, bored out of his wits, as the American warmed up.

"Hurry up you git. You know you won't make it."

"Okay okay, don't get your knickers in a knot… One, two … three!"

He sent the basketball flying straight for the net. Arthur watched in awe as the basketball smashed into the backboard, yet miraculously go in. He stared at the ball rolling away, seemingly traumatised for life. Arthur then stared at Alfred's smug face.

"Another demonstration?" drawled the American, shit eating grin in place.

* * *

Arthur was in the nurse's room with him. Arms crossed with a scorching scowl in place. He was furious. Alfred flinched back from the acid glare, just liked he been snapped.

"That was common place occurrence?" Cold words, but a fire was raging within them. All the American could do was put on a sheepish grin in response.

"Do not smile like that, Alfred. You near gave me a heart attack." Arthur stopped. Seemed to wallow in his own rage then added a curt "you little fuck" at the end.

"Aww, you care."

Both boys glared at Ivan in the next bed, giving them a small satisfied smile. Alfred just frowned at that smile. It was too up himself for his liking. Arthur sent a quick bird, and turned his back to the Russian.

A few minutes passed, Alfred watching, slowly getting concerned as Arthur whipped himself up. A few deep breaths, then Arthur emerald eyes looked straight into Alfred's cerulean ones.

"Whatever you do." Arthur said though clenched teeth, "you will win against that creepy tosser." Alfred seemed to beam in response, nodding in agreement.

* * *

Francis, Gilbert and Antonio loved teasing Arthur as well. About his bushy brows down to his excellent grades whatever. The one who seem to set off Arthur more then others was Francis. Many office trips were made together.

Alfred watched as Arthur and Francis had their normal shouting match. Yet, something seemed off with this now normal scene. Arthur seemed sick in the morning, flicking off all his attempts to talk with the ease of flicking a fly away. Alfred didn't make it easy.

Arthur was pissed. But also Francis was. The argument was very heated without the rivalry which was normally there.

He was certainly grumpy. Well, not only Arthur, but also Alfred. He was on edge. Why did Arthur bother talking to Francis (yelling it was but still!) and not him. Alfred was moping. As soon as Francis eyes fell on him, he sent a glare back.

Stupid Francis talking to Arthur who will not talk to him.

Francis seemed to be in a wicked mood as well. He just sent a sarcastic smile back, turned and whispered something into Arthur's ear.

Alfred watched as the two boys eyes flickered from him to each other. Alfred was uneasy, Francis was talking about him. Arthur expression went from shocked, to hurt, then to anger.

"Hey, Francie-pancy" yelled Alfred from his table, glaring at the Frenchmen with distaste. "What are you two talking about?"

"None of your business" snapped Francis back, looking back at Arthur, who seemed to bristle even more, like he was challenging him.

The class seemed to sense the tension, and calls of "fight" whisked around the room. Alfred was ready to punch some Frenchmen if he kept talking gossip about him. Especially to Arthur, the Frenchmen seemed to love to put others down to make him feel better.

Francis seemed to size the American up and the Briton as well. France whispered into the Britons ear, looking smug. He was looking directly at Alfred.

Alfred stood up, chair crashing to the floor. Francis merely looked at him like he was nothing. The calls for a fight grew louder.

"What were you saying to Artie?" Alfred growled, getting caught up in the tension. His eyes locked onto Francis's. The other was defensive, yet furious and upset at the same time. Alfred was startled at those intense emotions rarely shown by the Frenchman. Francis noticed this, and his face darkened.

"I was staying to _Artie_" he talked like he was addressing a child, "that your mother is a whore."

Arthur was the one to punch him square in the face, knocking Francis out cold.

* * *

Alfred glared at his bed, ignoring Arthur looking at him as he was a five-year old having a tantrum.

"Francis is a jerk" snapped Alfred, tensing his hands like he wanted to strangle something. The whole affair was over. News was that his mom was having an affair with Francis's dad, causing him to walk out and file a divorce on his mom. Francis was angry at him. Alfred just wanted to punch him for insulting his mom, and that was of course stolen by Arthur. So, he was fuming his Arthur for robbing him that pleasure of ripping into the fancy douche.

"Yes, I know" Arthur agreed. "Yet sulking won't get you anywhere."

Alfred just let out a dry chuckle, and then continued to tense his hands.

"Alfred." He didn't have to rip his gaze from his hands to see that smothering look of his… best friend, is it now?

"Alfred."

No, he didn't want to see him at all. He wanted to be alone.

"Alfred!"

Next minute he had Arthur pinned on his bed, both of their breathing harsh. He stared at the startled eyes of the other boy, hoping it showed how much frustration something like this gave him. A whisper of your mom's a whore or a disgusting stripper made him so… so…

"You are hurting me, Alfred." A gentle voice made him snap back into reality. Arthur's face was a mix of compassion, calmness, a little bit of fear and something else Alfred couldn't put a name to it. He let go straight away, backing up from Arthur as far as he could.

Few seconds passed, Alfred felt like an eternity gone by.

Arthur seemed to hesitate, an emotion flashed to fast through his face to Alfred to pick it up. He crawled to Alfred, like a person approaching a wild animal. Then, warm arms wrapped around him. Alfred stilled at the contact, and felt Arthur stiffen up as well. Arthur didn't didn't let go though.

* * *

When Alfred saw Francis in the morning, it was reasonably awkward. Yet Alfred couldn't help feel even more awkward around Arthur, in a different way that was. Butterflies seemed to wage war in his stomach whenever Arthur even just sneaked a quick look at him.

Alfred opened his locker, trying to escape everything Arthur related. Oh, PE first grea-

Oh fuck no. PE first.

* * *

The change room seemed to notice Alfred's and Arthur's discomfort. Harsher whispers snickered around.

"Artie, why not shower with Alfie?" Arthur's face was like a blank canvas. Automatically he went to the showers with no emotion whatsoever.

Alfred was not so lucky. He felt his face bloom a splotchy red as he heard that comment. God, why is it now that he gets these feelings? The others just herded him into the showers, more touchy feely then what should be normal. And giving more pointed looks to Arthur then normal, too.

"Arthur, your man is here." They snickered, Alfred giving his best murder glare as possible with a red face. Some shrieked back, others knew him better.

"Artie." Alfred watched, in some fascination, as the English boy refused to appeal their commands.

"Opps, oh! _Alfred tripped_."

He was falling, his towel snatched off his waist. Body hit body, and Alfred stilled for one horrible moment. He could hear roars of laughter and the tell tale clicks of camera phones and recorders. Opening his eyes he confirmed the worst possible situation.

Arthur, rather then the blank face before, was completely red. His mouth was slightly opened, in shock, his eyes almost popping out. Both still as a statue, they stared, almost transfixed on each others faces. It was Arthur who broke the connection, eyes travelling south. He seemed to hate the decision instantly, eyes snapping to Alfred's face then to the ground on the side. Alfred tried to untangle the mess they got into. Arthur was looking like he'd just been shot.

As soon as the two managed to get up, they moved as far as possible from each other. Both were red as cherries.

Laughter rang throughout the shower room.

* * *

Alfred stuck his hands in his pockets, ignoring the snide comments flung his way. Ivan was the first one to show the pictures. Alfred couldn't help but feel a hot flush as he saw him basically straddling a naked Arthur, towel only covering half his leg (un)fortunately. Both seemed like they had ran a marathon seconds before.

"That's one of the bad ones. There are better!" Chirped Ivan, flicking through his phone with joy. Oh god, Arthur defiantly looked like he climaxed in that one. Uh, that one too. Oh fuck now we both look like it.

"Best part is video" Ivan nodded sagely, turning the volume to max.

"Oh god." Groaned Alfred, seeing both boys struggle with untangling themselves. "It gets better." Ivan commentated.

Few seconds passed, Alfred caught his knee brush on… then… oh. That's why Arthur looked like he was shot.

"You basically gave him a knee job!" Crooned the Russian. He giggled as Alfred snatched his phone away, flung it to the ground and stormed off.

* * *

"Alfred"

School has ended, one of the most embarrassing days had just ended. It left him feeling confused, longing and horribly unful.  
Alfred looked up to see Arthur uncomfortably standing in front of his house. He focused his attention on Alfred's rip offs.

"Yes?" Fuck his voice breaking. Arthur looked up, an almost bashful look on his face. Alfred felt his cheeks bloom for the hundredth time today. "T-the video?" Oh now he is stuttering, you go Alfred.

Arthur hesitated. That look flashed along his face again, slowly this time.

Arthur, in two quick stride, grabbed Alfred's t-shirt with so much force that it ripped it nearly in half. Both looked down at the rip, both baffled. Alfred's eyes caught onto Arthur's.

Arthur let a embarrassed chuckle out, that died to a puff of air. Alfred sent one of his trade mark grins, a bit lop sided.

Arthur seemed to freeze for a second then smashed their lips together. The kiss turned into a whirlwind of emotions.

They separated, gasping for air. Arthur, after gaining his breath, gazed down at the ruined shirt sheepishly.

"I can buy you a new one?" he smiled.

Alfred just gazed down at the blonde. Quickly, he leant down and took those lips for his own.

* * *

It's 12:30 am right now. I had so much fun writing this, yet I am buggered. Hoped you enjoyed reading it as much as I wrote it! PS- Russia is the most funnest to write, oh gee.


	4. A Little Day Out

England just appreciating the little things. Fluff :D

* * *

England relaxed back into the booth, taking in his surroundings. The place was relatively modern, he decided. Clean and well maintained, just as he liked. He nodded his approval, noticing that America had chosen the table that seemed the cleanest. The booth chairs were deviously comfy as well. The booth was secluded, hidden away in the corner, and yet left enough space to easily 'people watch'. England couldn't help but smile. America did seem to put a lot of thought into this.

"Yo, Art!"

England; including most of the store turned to look at the American. His arms were overflowing with a ton of food. He managed to slurp on his drink, loudly at that, giving the Englishman a lopsided grin.

Only America would choose this place for a day out.

McDonalds.

"Shh, America!" he whispered as the boy sat down, but even he couldn't stop himself sporting a dorky smile. America just sticked his tongue out cheekily, passing out the food to England.

"You love it."


End file.
